Be Like That
by Relic
Summary: Lillian Rembrandt, average girl extraordinaire, has six best friends, each one apparently more beautiful and special with a more wonderful boyfriend than the last. But in a city of smoke and mirrors, who can say what's real? Or what's most valuable?
1. Prologue: Lillian

I slid into the booth, late as always. I had run here, and my lungs burned as I took deep breaths, trying not to show how together I was not. I didn't need to run, really; it wasn't like this was some sort of organized, rare event. I just hated to miss a minute of it. I hated to miss a minute of _them_.

Listen to me. A few words in and I've already lost you, jumping ahead like that.

My name is Lillian Rembrandt. I work as a newsgirl, and I live in a girl's boarding house in midtown, Manhattan. I don't know where my parents are, much like most of the other kids I know. There's nothing special or remarkable about me, nothing that would cause me to stand out from any other fifteen year old girl in this city. But I don't mind. In fact, as hard as life is, I think I've got it pretty good. I've got a roof over my head, the sun pops out every morning, and most importantly, I'm the luckiest girl in the city.

Because _they_ befriended me.

Before I came to the boarding house, they were six. I think everyone expected it to just stay that way, which was why it was so surprising when they asked me to join them for dinner, one day. The boarding house provided dinner nightly; I think the first night I sat with them was the quietest dinner the house had ever seen. Nobody understood why I was allowed to be near them, why they chose me; some even asked me about it, later. I wished I could give them a better answer, but I was as amazed as everyone else.

I've come to the conclusion that it's got to be my attitude. It's the one thing that makes me different. I love life, and I won't let this city change that, no matter how cruel it is. I love to talk, I love to laugh, and I love to be around people. I feel good when I'm with people, and most of the time, as far as I know, people feel good when they're with me. I care about people; the longer I spend in this city, the more I see that that's a rare quality. So maybe that's why they chose me.

I don't mean to be cryptic about them. I'm just not sure how to explain them. They're… beautiful. _Exceptional_, really. Each one is so painstakingly pretty, so poised and so confident. They don't belong here, and everyone knows it. It's probably why they banded together; out of the sixty or so girls that called our boarding house home, they were the ones that were going to get out. They were the ones that wouldn't end up as whores or factory workers or worse. They were special.

It was rare to be able to freely date boys, for girls in our position. The kind of boys who courted didn't go for girls in positions like ours, and mostly the kind that did go for us were boys who weren't interested in traditional courting. To have a steady boyfriend was nearly unheard of. But of course, they all had one.

The first was Hayley 'Cheetah' O'Connor. She was trouble – which was really sort of funny, given that she looked it the least. With fiery red hair, emerald green eyes and a body that reminded me of a porcelain doll, she looked less like danger and more like an Irish princess from a fairy tale. I don't think she ever meant to cause harm, but boy, when she got bored… well, I just tried to hold on to something and scout the nearest exit. If they weren't all so pretty, I think half the establishments in the city wouldn't let them back in because of her antics. She went with Mush Meyers, and I gotta tell you, if there was ever a couple more in love with being in love, I hadn't seen them. The minute those two got near each other, it was like the whole rest of the world was just an audience, circling around them.

Ellie Summers, or 'Pegasus', was next. She was the most cheerful of the group, which offset her dark looks and made her probably the most approachable of the six of them. She had beautiful black hair that settled into waves in a way that I could only wish mine would, and dark brown eyes hidden behind long black lashes. She always stood next to Cheetah, making the two even more striking than they were apart. Except for maybe me, she was the most optimistic, so it was kind of funny that she chose to date Skittery Richards, a self-declared realist. Then again, I only ever saw them laugh and smile when they were together, so who knows.

Levina Carter, otherwise known as 'Pyro', was sort of the temper of the group. She was the girlfriend of the infamous Spot Conlon of Brooklyn, and I never had any difficulty understanding that coupling at all. They had everything in common – even down to their lack of desire for a commitment. No one knew whether they were official on any given week, but everyone knew that no matter how much they flirted, it was best to steer clear, because as good looking as they were, it wasn't worth it to make an enemy out of the other. He was a handsome guy, but they were evenly matched – with her long dark hair and bright blue eyes, she turned as many heads as he did. Maybe more; the girls were all so beautiful that comparing them was really almost an issue of individual preference, but if I could point out one as the most widely known strictly for her beauty, it would be Pyro. Her and Spot's fights got a little intense, sometimes, and she was the one in the group I was always most careful not to anger, but most of the time she was a lot of fun.

There was rarely fighting within the group, but if there was, it was usually between Pyro and Lockie, or Anna Rodgers. Lockie was… well, she was Lockie, and she never apologized for it. Which I always admired, even though I was often the one left standing at whatever scene she'd caused, doing the apologizing for her. She was painfully smart, not always honest, and had a real lack of tolerance for other people's nonsense – her sarcastic comebacks were what usually set off the sparks between her and Pyro. It fit perfectly with her boyfriend, Racetrack Higgins, who was a bit more relaxed but every bit as sarcastic. Besides, with her brown eyes that almost passed for hazel, light brown hair and heart-shaped face, she could pretty much get away with saying whatever she wanted.

Aurora 'Shooter' O'Brien was the fifth, and about as far a cry from Lockie and Pyro as could be imagined. Quiet and reserved, I could count the number of times Shooter would insert into the conversation at a given meal on one hand, usually. With wide, hazel eyes and straight light brown hair, she certainly was the most mysterious of the group. I always felt that she knew, more than any of them, that she didn't belong here; she seemed to be just tolerating everything until she was able to move on. Boys couldn't quite seem to get enough of it, strangely enough; I think it must have been the challenge in it. Whatever it was, there were a lot of disappointed men when she settled down with Kid Blink. I didn't know anything about their relationship; he always just seemed happy that she was giving him the time of day, and I couldn't blame him. I always felt like I'd won an award when I would say something that would invoke a kind response from Shooter.

Sarah, or 'Echo', rounded out the group. I had a particularly soft spot for Echo – she was the one who first invited me to sit with them, and I always felt indebted to her for that. Plus, I guess I looked up to her especially, as she sort of led the group, or at least kept them bound together. She was the loudest, friendly and fun to be around. She could be pretty critical, and was probably the only one who could beat out Lockie in that respect, but just like Lockie, it was worth the occasional sting of a biting comment to get to be around her. Echo even looked a little like me, or at least what I wished I looked like; she had brown curly hair, like mine, though hers never seemed to frizz or have completely wild days, like mine did. Her hazel eyes were shaped like almonds, like mine, but hers made my brown ones seem so dull when the sun hit them and they turned gold, or green. She had just started dating Snoddy and, though I'd never admit it out loud, I was relieved. With all six of them taken, the rest of us might just have a shot.

And so, there you have it. The six princesses of Manhattan. They were all seventeen, and looked it, while I was only barely fifteen and felt like a total child standing next to them. They never said anything about it, about how ridiculous it was that someone as plain and unimpressive as myself got to hang around and ride the coattails of such stunning, talented people, and so neither did I. They were my best friends, don't get me wrong; we were as close as sisters. I spent hours on end with them, talking about life and dreams and boys and everything else that came to mind. I just always felt a bit… disconnected, from the group, I guess. I mean, they were so perfect. No insecurities, no fears, just talents and beautiful reflections and handsome boyfriends… nothing like me. Most of the time I was content to just be around them. But some days, like today, as I looked around the table at their perfect hair and faces and laughter and smiles…

Sometimes I just wondered what it would be like, to be them for a day.


	2. Chapter 1: Echo

**.Echo.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

_I don't wanna be the girl who laughs the loudest  
Or the girl who never wants to be alone  
I don't wanna be that call at 4 o'clock in the morning  
Because I'm the only one you know in the world that won't be home_

_._

I laid my head back against the pillow, but it didn't offer much comfort as the pounding against my skull began to grow harder. I had had too much. Again. Everyone else was already sound asleep in their bunks – would I be up in time for selling the morning edition? Probably not.

That was okay. Who needed to eat lunch, right?

I wasn't sure how I got home. I hadn't gone out with Snoddy. I hadn't gone out with anyone I knew, actually. That was starting to become a habit, not that they knew it. It's not like I didn't want to go with them; it was just that they were always ready to turn in so much sooner than I was. So, usually after I'd gone with them, I'd go out again on my own. Just for nightcaps.

My eyelids were starting to get heavy, but I lifted up my arms anyway, wincing when even in the moonlight I could see the fingerprint bruises trailing up and down them. Whatever I'd done since my last memory, which was being four drinks in at a bar a few blocks down from here, I wouldn't be telling the girls about it. And I certainly wouldn't be telling Snoddy. Assuming I ever remembered it, myself.

.

Ah the sun is blinding  
I stayed up again  
Oh, I am finding  
That's not the way I want my story to end

_._

My mother was a prostitute. That's how I learned.

I watched everything she did. I couldn't really help it - she was just so beautiful. I didn't look a thing like her, unfortunately – I always assumed I took after my dad, not that I ever knew him. That's how I got this way, I guess; with her, I would never be the prettiest one in the room, but she taught me how to be the most fun. Had to be something to stand out in this world, if you wanted to survive.

I probably should rephrase that – I didn't watch _everything_. I never saw her actually do her work – she left me at a neighbor's at night, paid them to let me sleep there. But I saw her every morning, tired and sad. Some people were cut out for that lifestyle, I guess – she wasn't one of them. But she'd manage to clean herself up, take care of me, and then every evening, she'd take me to a nearby bar.

I saw the alcohol transform her, every night. She'd go from depressed and downtrodden to lively, happy and fun – and then she'd send me home for the night. I never forgot how people would look at her, smiling and laughing and greeting her. They all just wanted to be near her.

I wanted that.

_._

_  
I'm safe  
Up high  
Nothing can touch me  
But why do I feel this party's over?  
No pain  
Inside  
You're like protection  
How do I feel this good sober?_

_._

Before you judge me too harshly, you should know that I'm not an alcoholic. Life is just hard, and without the alcohol, I don't think I could make it. I mean, I'm not one of those bums that lay out in front of the back doors of the bars alone, in the alleyways waiting for the place to open up. They're pathetic. I'm not like that at all.

It's just… It's just different. My mom disappeared right after my fourteenth birthday. I don't know if she ran off to be with a man who didn't want to take her kid, but that always seemed like the most logical idea, to me. She had a lot of repeat customers from what I knew and, beautiful as she was and though I think she loved me as much as she could, we both always knew that she loved herself more. The other scenarios I thought of were either that she was dying and left so that I didn't have to see – she had a terrible, hacking cough for several years before she disappeared – or she took the wrong customer and he killed her. I tried not to dwell on the last two – I liked to just imagine that she was off in some country house, with some great man who gave her lots of nice things and servants to care for her.

I'm not alone, either. Though, sometimes when I'm really down, I wonder if it would be better if I were. If I didn't have my beautiful, special friends and trusting, wonderful boyfriend, maybe it wouldn't have gotten this bad.

After all, it started small, just like things always do. A drink at a party, or after a long day when an extra tip had left me a few cents in the flush. That was when it was just me and Pegasus, before the others found their way to the boarding house. As each one came, first Pyro, then Cheetah, Lockie, Shooter, and finally Lillian, it was like each one added an ounce of alcohol to my glass. I needed just a little more because I had to be a little more fun, a little more lively to stand out. How else do you sparkle in a room full of stars?

It was Snoddy that tipped the scale, though. Well, it was the day he decided he was in love with me. It was two months ago and I haven't had a sober night since.

_  
._

_  
I don't wanna be the girl who has to fill the silence  
The quiet scares me 'cause it screams the truth  
Please don't tell me that we had that conversation  
I won't remember, save your breath, because what's the use?_

Ah, the night is calling  
And it whispers to me softly come and play  
Ah, I am falling  
And If I let myself go I'm the only one to blame

_._

I could pretend to be noble, say I hide in the bottle because my mother left me, made me think I was unlovable. I could say that life is so hard and I'm so scared that anything good might just be a false breeze before a summer of hell. You'd buy that, right?

It's not that.

I love the attention. I love having everyone in the room looking to me for excitement, for the next moment of fun. I feel like my mother, that way. Beautiful and special and fun. I feel like I fit with my friends who wake up in the morning looking better than I do after an hour of fussing and prodding myself. I love the rush; I love the warm feeling down my throat, the bitter kick at the end, and watching the room spin so fast I feel like I might just fall off.

But most of all, I love him. And he loves the girl that's the life of the party.

.

I'm safe  
Up high  
Nothing can touch me  
But why do I feel this party's over?  
No pain  
Inside  
You're like perfection  
How do I feel this good sober?

I'm coming down, coming down, coming down  
Spinning 'round, spinning 'round, spinning 'round  
Looking for myself - sober

_._

When I'm sober, I'm insecure. Harsh. Difficult to please. Downright unpleasant, from what I've been told. People put up with me, but I assume it's because they know that once night hits and I knock a glass of whiskey back, I'll be fun again.

I guess that's the real me. And I mean, why shouldn't I be that way? Insecure, I mean. If any one of my best friends snapped their fingers, I bet Snoddy'd come running, just like any other guy nearby. And it's not only that – they all just flitter through life, everything just coming together for them. I'm sure they'd all be friends with no effort, no trouble – I have to fight to keep us a group, a formation that I can be part of. It wears on a girl, after awhile.

There's not much to me, really. I've always just been ordinary, the kind that blends in to the wall. I don't attract people, and so they pass on by, leaving me alone and empty. I'll always be that, without the bottle. I've worked too hard for this life; I don't care if it's a lie.

It's _my_ lie.

.

_  
When it's good, then it's good, it's so good 'til it goes bad  
Until you're trying to find the you that you once had  
I have heard myself cry, never again  
Broken down in agony just trying find a friend_

_._

I hate the mornings after. Each one is worst than the last – one more minute of sickness, or headache. The other day I coughed up blood, which I'm guessing is a bad thing. Drinking will probably kill me.

The sick thing is, I don't even care.

Last week Snoddy asked me if I might ease off for a night, not have a drink so that I could just enjoy his company. I don't give him enough credit; when I tried to laugh off the suggestion, I caught this look in his eyes that just made me stop short. He knows it's bad. If I hadn't gone on to have several shots, I might have had time to wonder just how much he knows.

Maybe he sees everything. Maybe he loves me, for me, right? And he's what I want. So maybe I could just stop, and we could just be together.

But that's not true. He's not _everything_ I want. It wouldn't be enough. Sooner or later, that push to be the main attraction would creep up, and I'd welcome it back with open arms. I hate that about myself, but hating it doesn't make it any less true.

Likewise, accepting that it's true doesn't make me hate myself any less.

_  
._

_  
I'm safe  
Up high  
Nothing can touch me  
But why do I feel this party's over?  
No pain  
Inside  
You're like perfection  
How do I feel this good sober?_

Will I ever feel this good sober?

_._

Another night, another party. The girls are all here – big surprise, so is half the local male population, from the looks of it. Where they go, men follow, boyfriends or not. Snoddy's run off to say hello to his friends while I make my way to mine. Tonight, I've decided, is going to be different. It's the first night of the rest of my life, right? I'm starving, after having no money to eat today; I can't afford to keep going like this. I'm giving up the bottle. Screw the spotlight.

I get to the table and the girls have already started with their usual. Cheetah's draped over Mush, whispering things I'm probably better off not hearing. She never seems to have an off day; always going, always fun. And she doesn't even have to soak herself in alcohol to get there. Pyro's beside her, and wrapped up, too, though with a couple of guys that I don't know. Her and Spot must be off again. They'll be back together in a week, tops. He can't stay away from her.

Ugh. I can't even look at her for too long; she's so damned perfect. What kind of God gives somebody a flawless face and then makes the rest of us live with her? Is a little fairness too much to ask? Lockie's talking to Shooter; trying to make her laugh, from the looks of it. Good luck with that one, Lock. But right then, of course, Shooter breaks out into laughter. And why wouldn't she? Like Lockie's ever failed at anything she's ever done.

Even Lillian doesn't notice as I sit down; Lucas 'Runner' Conlon is beside her, apparently trying to do some card trick for her while she does her own fair share of laughter. Runner was Spot's younger cousin, and while he was obviously here to spy on Pyro for Spot, all of us besides Lillian (and maybe him), knew he was coming around so much for _other_ reasons. I think it's cute.

Peg's the only one to greet me, and I'm a little relieved, until I notice that her smile is a little too big, even for her. She flashes a ring at me, which catches the attention of the rest of the table, and the shrieking and laughing starts in. She's engaged. My oldest friend is leaving us in the dust and heading for greener pastures.

Of course she is. The rest of them won't be far behind. What a perfect way to start a party.

Hell.

I'll give up the bottle tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 2: Cheetah

**(Author's note – Sorry for the delay! Life got unexpectedly upside down. The next chapter should come much sooner. Thanks so much for the reviews!)**

**.**

**.**

**.Cheetah.**

.

.

.

_Spend all your time waiting_

_For that second chance_

_For a break that would make it okay_

_._

_._

He thinks I don't know that he looks at me.

He does it all the time. When I take a drink, or walk across the room. I'm not just his girlfriend, not to him. To him, I'm amazing.

What a joke.

Don't get me wrong, I love Mush. But he doesn't love me. Not really. He loves the idea of love, and the idea of me. Hell, I think the only thing he actually _doesn't_ love is me. Which is why I do what I'm about to do.

I get up from the table and tell him that I'll be back in five minutes. Powder room – best excuse in the world, since what guy is gonna get nosy about something like that? I cross the bar, head out of sight to the back… and that's where I meet up with Edward.

Edward's a guy from uptown – and I don't just mean the location. I mean _uptown_, the kind that comes with shined shoes, long coats and pocket watches worth more than I am. He's really handsome, and even though he's arrogant enough to know it, he's always good to me. We've been running around together for a few months now, and I think it must be a sign that it's meant to be that we haven't gotten caught yet.

I see him, and I tell myself that this will be the last time. I love Mush, after all – I know this would hurt him, and that's the last thing I want. In fact, loving him is part of what makes me do this.

He smiles at me from the door of our little back room where we meet, and I manage to smile back at him. He's in love, too, but not with me. He loves my red hair and green eyes, and the danger of being a guy like him with a girl like me. He needs the excitement in his life, and I need him.

But, for a totally different reason.

_._

_._

_._

_There's always one reason_

_To feel not good enough_

_And it's hard at the end of the day_

_._

_._

It's not like cocaine is really that bad. It's just a pick-me-up, so I can get going again. Everyone needs me to; my friends look to me to keep things exciting. Not fun, exactly – that's Echo's department. No, my job is to cause trouble; do something that gets all of our pulses up and that we can talk about the next day.

And I can't let them down, because if I do, one day, they might stop looking. And I can't have that.

My friends mean more to me than anything in the world. They were the first people to ever care about me, and I spend every moment desperately trying to hang onto that. In some ways, I think their offer of friendship was a little cruel – the minute they showed me what it was like to be cared about, I could never live without it again. I would do anything to keep it. The drugs have come and gone, but love was always my real addiction.

Sometimes I think I was better off not knowing love.

I was born an orphan. I mean, I guess I had parents, obviously; even the good Lord had a mother. I just never met them. Instead, like so many Irish-born Americans before me, I was left on the street, naked and alone. The people that ran the orphanage I grew up in used to tell me about how they found me, covered in blood like my mother had just popped me out right there on the sidewalk and walked away. Who knows, maybe that's exactly what she did. Either way, made for one hell of a bedtime story.

The orphanage I lived in and the people who ran it were just what you'd expect from this city – cold, hard and without comfort. They took in all kinds, so you learn to get comfortable sharing a bed – or the floor, depending on how big the kid willing to fight you over it was. I usually shared a bed with three other girls – sometimes four, on tight days.

The thing about kids who have to fight for the basics – food, beds, attention – is that they learn to be vicious. Without that common sense, 'consequence' idea that kicks in as an adult, it's amazing what you're capable of. I watched a girl cut off another girl's thumb for trying to take part of her lunch, and the worst part is, I didn't think it was all that unusual.

I got adopted a few times so I was in and out of the place a lot, so I guess that's why I came out halfway decent – if you call what I am now, decent. Even being Irish, I was pretty enough that people wanted to play with me for a little while before they put me back on the shelf. Not that they ever let me forget that I was Irish, or that I wasn't really good enough – their goodbyes always seemed to end with, "… But she just isn't a fit. It's in the breeding, of course, isn't it? Such a shame – such a pretty girl. Such a waste."

Each place was a little worse, with a little more abuse. Especially as I got older. They all wanted something different from me – it was like each new family had a game they wanted to play, and I needed to fit the role. They wanted me to play pretend, to be whatever it is they wanted.

Nobody ever wanted _me_.

.

.

_._

_I need some distraction_

_Oh beautiful release_

_Memory seeps from my veins_

_Let me be empty_

_And weightless and maybe_

_I'll find some peace tonight_

_._

_._

_._

I guess that brings me back to Edward. Just in time, too, since he's starting to notice that I'm not really responding to his attempts at conversation. I smile at him and he relaxes, chattering away again as I start to put my clothes back on. He always does this – instead of the usual man who can't go to sleep or get away fast enough, Edward loves to talk after we've had one of these little trysts. I hate it.

"I've gotta get back, they'll notice if I'm gone too much longer," I tell him, before assuring him that tomorrow night, we'll go on a real date and he'll have me all to himself. That seems to make him happy, and soon enough he's leaving, handing me a bag and saying some kind words that any other girl would probably love to hear.

Not me, though; as soon as that bag fell into my palm, the rest of the world was gone.

I like to take it alone – snorting it's really the easiest, and it's so fast that I suppose an audience wouldn't matter much. But it's not because I'm embarrassed that I like to do it by myself; it's the ritual of it. The moment when the cocaine hits my system and my head spins and my heart flips around in my chest, I want it to just be me and the universe. It's the one second I get that I don't have to hide anything, or be anyone.

I'm free.

_._

_._

_._

_In the arms of an angel_

_Fly away from here_

_From this dark cold room_

_And the endlessness that you fear_

_You are pulled from the wreckage_

_Of your silent reverie_

_You're in the arms of the angel_

_May you find some comfort here_

_._

_._

_._

I'm not much on words, if that wasn't already real obvious. I've spent so much of my life trying to be someone else, I guess I've got no words that are just my own. If I had to really think about it, I'd probably say that cocaine's the only relationship I've ever had that's been real.

Since I started seeing Edward it's become a nightly thing, but I've been bouncing from drug to drug for a few years, now. Morphine, opium – you name it, I've tried it. But those were hard to get and even harder to hide, and none of it made me feel the way I wanted to feel. I didn't want to just feel good – I wanted to feel alive.

And with the cocaine, for a little while at least, I do.

I know it's got its downsides. It's more than just a 'want', now – I have to have it, every night. I need it. So badly, in fact, that I'm starting to get careless; last night, I snorted some right in my bunk, and Lockie walked in not half a second later. I don't know what I would've done if she'd seen me.

It's all I think about, anymore. When I can get more, how it's going to feel when I hit that high again. What I'd be willing to give up to get just a little bit more.

There's other stuff, too. Paranoia, nosebleeds, hallucinations. One time I thought the walls were crumbling in on me and I got so scared I couldn't breathe and started to claw the walls to get out – if Edward hadn't been there to shake me out of it, I don't know what would've happened.

Still, to me, it's worth the bad. Most of the time when I'm sober I have bad dreams, or bad memories that I can't escape no matter what I do. Those families that took me in and the orphanage that kept me, what they did to me… I still can't even talk about it, now that I'm grown, and yet every time I close my eyes, it's all I can think about.

While I'm on that high, I can just forget. That's worth _anything_.

.

_._

_._

_So tired of the straight line_

_And everywhere you turn_

_There's vultures and thieves at your back_

_And the storm keeps on twisting_

_You keep on building the lie_

_That you make up for all that you lack_

_It don't make no difference_

_Escaping one last time_

_It's easier to believe in this sweet madness oh_

_This glorious sadness that brings me to my knees_

_._

_._

_._

Nobody knows, besides Edward. I doubt Mush would stick around, especially when he found out _how_ I got the drugs. The girls don't have any idea – I sometimes try to imagine what they'd say. Lockie would curse at me and maybe throw something – she'd have no idea why I'd be doing it. No surprise there; Lockie never runs from anything, so she doesn't tolerate cowards. I can't really blame her.

Peg and Shooter probably wouldn't say anything; they'd just look at me with pity, which would be worse than being cursed at. Peg's the only one who knows about my days in the orphanage, so she might understand why I do it. Still, cheating on Mush, lying, and stealing just to get away for a few minutes, to feel alive and keep them entertained? Neither of them, both honest and devoutly faithful to their boyfriends, would understand that.

Lillian wouldn't have a clue what to do – she'd stick by me, I'm pretty sure, but she'd be so confused. That's why I'd hate for her to find out – she's just so innocent. It's nice to know that someone in the city managed to escape being jaded and bitter, and I wouldn't want to be the one to ruin that. I'd never forgive myself for it.

Echo would probably be much the same as Lockie – she might just send me away, tell me I couldn't hang around them anymore. Drug addicts don't make good company, after awhile, and she's street-smart enough that she might catch that before the others did. That was the reaction I was most afraid of, but it would be fair – I've already started to steal from the bunkroom to pay for my habit when Edward doesn't come through. Only a matter of time before I start doing worse things.

Pyro's probably the only one who wouldn't judge me – mostly because she couldn't be bothered to focus on anything besides her and Spot's constant battles. That's probably not fair; but truth be told, when I'm having a down day, she's the one I hate the most. She's just so beautiful, and her looks aren't a curse to her, like they are to me. No one ever calls _her_ a Mick and spits at her when she turns them down. No one treats her like something less than them, like a cute puppy to be used and sent off when you're done with it. She's a constant reminder that life _could_ be fair – and that mine wasn't.

.

.

_._

_In the arms of an angel_

_Fly away from here_

_From this dark cold hotel room_

_And the endlessness that you fear_

_You are pulled from the wreckage_

_Of your silent reverie_

_You're in the arms of the angel_

_May you find some comfort there_

.

.

.

I sit back down at the table, knees already starting to bounce restlessly as I look around for how to next test my own mortality. Mush pats my knee and smiles as I move to stand up again; he knows what's going to happen next, that I'm going to go cause some kind of mess. He doesn't care. He's just happy to be in the audience.

He thinks I don't know that he looks at me. I think he doesn't know that he never really sees me.


	4. Chapter 3: Pegasus

**((AN - Sorry for the delay! I've been overseas since just after I posted the last chapter of this, and I've just now gotten back and settled. I'm still determined to finish this before year end! Thanks SO MUCH to my betas and reviewers, I'd honestly probably have given up and abandoned this thing without you. This chapter is a lot longer than the others, mostly because its focused on past versus present and just ended up that way. Please read and review so that I know that someone's still reading this! Thank you!))**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.Pegasus.**

.

.

.

.

.

The ring on my finger felt especially heavy this morning. I had wondered, briefly, if Skittery would notice if I left it off. Just for the day.

But, of course he would. Because even though I've never said it, I think deep down he knows the truth about it; about us.

He knows that it's not his ring I wish I was wearing.

.

.

.

_Remember all the things we wanted?  
Now all our memories, they're haunted.  
We were always meant to say goodbye._

_._

_._

_._

My mother always used to say that Luke and I were thick as thieves, right from the womb. While that wasn't really possible, especially since Luke was a couple years older than me, I always thought that was a pretty close to accurate description of our relationship.

Luke had been my best friend for as long as I could remember. His parents lived next door to us in our tenement building, and I can't think of a time when we were apart. Our mothers were close friends and my father got his father a job at the factory he worked in, so we really might as well have been family. I never minded spending so much time with him, though.

I don't think there was ever really a time when I wasn't in love with him.

One of my earliest memories is when I was four and he had just turned seven. He took me out to the nearby park and gave me a flower and said that with it we were married, and that we'd always be together. I remember sitting there and listening to him tell me about the big house and the nice things we'd have, and knowing with all my heart that everything he was saying was absolutely true. That he'd get us everything we could ever want and that he'd never let me go. That our lives would be just like he said.

Unfortunately, I wasn't entirely wrong.

_._

_._

_.  
Even with our fists held high,  
It never would have worked out right.  
We were never meant for do or die._

_._

_._

_._

It's been such a long lunch. Skittery's laughing as Dutchy tells a joke, and Cheetah and Lockie are telling a story about some exciting thing that happened to them during their morning selling. Everyone's here, and they're all having a good time.

And I'm a million miles away.

I wonder what Luke's doing, right now. It seems like I'm always wondering that, these days. Or I'm thinking, why can't things with Skittery be like the way they were with Luke, when things were good. Why can't he hold my hand just the same way, or why can't he kiss me just the same way? Why can't he love me just the same way?

Why can't I love him just the same way?

_._

_._

_.  
I didn't want us to burn out,  
I didn't come here to hold you, now I can't stop._

_._

_._

_._

Everyone has memories that stay with them forever, I guess. Memories that pop up when we make choices, or ponder difficult decisions; memories that define us. Most of mine involve Luke.

But all of them together don't compare to the memory of watching my home – and with it, my parents – burn away to nothing.

A few nights a week, my parents and Luke's would get together for a big dinner. We really didn't need to, since my mother and his were forever going between the two family apartments to chatter away, and our fathers would always seem to find a way to sneak off to a bar in the evenings for a quick drink even after a long day of working side by side. Still, they seemed to enjoy the formalness of a planned, joint dinner. It was sort of a family tradition, and with our first-generation American-Italian parents being thousands of miles from 'home', they needed all the family they could get.

And family is what we were.

I was 12 years old when it happened – old enough to understand the world, and young enough to believe there was still good in it. Lucky for me, Luke was older – he already knew better. So it was him, then, who pulled me from the flames as I raced to the front door to get inside and get to our apartment. It was him who shielded my view from the window where our parents stood, screaming for help while the fire closed in around them. It was him who took my hand and fled, stopping only to carry me when I began crying too hard to run, when our neighbors began jumping from the building to the unforgiving pavement below and the walls began to crumble down.

We had only left for a few minutes. Just down the block to buy a loaf of bread; our parents always sent us out for something like that to get us out of the house while they gossiped about things they thought we were too young to hear. It was so normal, and then so fast. That was the hardest part, I think.

I didn't know where we were going, or what was happening. All I could think of was how strong Luke was, how tough. How everything was going to be okay, and he was going to make this better, and our families would be waiting for us and just fine just as soon as we stopped running. How, deep down, I knew that wasn't true.

I never stopped to wonder what he was thinking.

.

.

_I want you to know_  
_That it doesn't matter_  
_Where we take this road,_  
_Someone's got to go._

_._

_._

Two years went by. Though we grew up in Manhattan, we now called Brooklyn home – it was very different than our old neighborhood, more fast-paced, more harsh to nobodies like us. We had no choice, though – Luke knew that staying there would have landed us in an orphanage, or worse, and we would have been split up for good.

I worked in a factory sewing garments while Luke loaded and unloaded down at the docks. It was hard on both of us, but I was failing faster – while Luke was building muscle and gaining a healthy tan, I was becoming frail and thin, with a cough that would wake us both throughout the night.

"I want you to quit, El," Luke said quietly, as we walked down the sidewalk one evening. Once a week we went to a local diner for coffee – it wasn't much, but it was the one special thing we had to look forward to.

"We need the money, Luke," I frowned, shaking my head. I hated to tell him no when he wanted something – more than just my love for him, he simply so rarely asked for anything, and when he did, they were always such small things. With as much responsibility as he carried without complaint to take care of us, and as hard as he worked to do it, it never felt right to deny him.

"My boss, you know, Frankie? He says he's got some side jobs I can do for him and his family because I work so good. That'll bring in twice as much as you're making at that place," he reasoned. Before I could protest, he took my hand and stopped walking. "I already accepted it. It's hard work, but I can do it – that factory is killing you. If you died, I couldn't… I don't know what I'd do if you left me, El. There'd be no point, without you. Please."

He didn't have to ask me – he could have told me to quit, and I would have had to. I'd be dead on the streets without him, and we both knew it. He could've demanded anything but instead he always asked, as if we were equals and my opinion mattered to him. Even so young, I knew how rare that was in a man in this city.

"I'd never leave you," I said, lacing my fingers through his. "If you really want me to stop, I'll quit. But I'm going to look for something else – with two jobs, you'll barely have time to sleep, and I… Luke?"

His attention had turned from me to an alley, and I followed his eyes to what looked like a huddled mess of fabric. "I'm sorry, just one minute, okay?"

"What are you doing?" I called, as he pulled away and headed for the alley. He was always doing things like that; spotting something I couldn't see and fixing things I didn't know were broken. I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was, then, when he reemerged with a small, sickly dog, cradling it like it was a baby.

"Hey little guy, what are you doing out here in the cold? And when was the last time you ate, huh? You're skin and bones!" I held my breath as the dog nibbled at Luke's fingers, wagging its tail like it could understand what he was saying.

"Luke! What if he bites you?" I said, absolutely frozen.

He laughed, taking my hand and guiding it to pat the dog on the head. "Come on, El. If he was going to bite me, he'd have done it already. He just wants a friendly face, is all. Besides, weren't you the one who always wanted a pet? Well, here you go. If you take care of him half as well as you take care of me, he'll be the sharpest looking dog this city's ever seen."

"You're crazy," I exclaimed, hesitantly starting to stroke the dog. "We can't have a dog. Even if we could afford to feed it, which we can't, they'd never let us keep him in the apartment, and…"

"Hey," he interrupted, kissing me softly. "Nobody's ever gonna stop me from giving you everything you deserve, okay? Ever. Now, we're a family, and this guy needs one, so it's a perfect fit. Don't worry – I'll make it work."

_._

_._

_And I want you to know,  
You couldn't have loved me better.  
But I want you to move on,  
So I'm already gone._

_._

_.  
_

"El!" Laid out on my bed and heavily engrossed in my book, I barely had a moment to mark the page before it was on the floor and replaced above me by a smiling Luke. Frankie, my faithful, now very large canine companion named after Luke's former boss and current mentor, barely managed to get out of the way of the novel and gave us both a look of total displeasure.

"How do you always manage to come home at the most important part of my story?" I posed, attempting to scowl until I gave up and returned his grin. It was impossible not to – Luke's happiness was always infectious. "You could at least pretend you're sorry. Unless you just overdid it on the coffee again today, was there something you wanted?"

"You," he said, taking my hand and kissing it. Then he kissed my shoulder, and my neck, and soon he was stretched out on top of me, pressing me against the bed with a gentleness I was sure only he could manage. His soft touch always made his body feel like home, to me. "I'm sorry about your book. Really sorry. I'll find the exact word you left off at, and then I'll go buy you ten new ones, to make up for it."

I knew he would, too. "I would rather have you than a book," I shook my head, resting my hand against his cheek. "And I'd rather have dinner for the rest of the week than ten new ones."

"Who says you have to choose?" he asked, before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a wad of dollar bills.

It was more money than I'd ever seen at one time. "Luke, I… how?" I asked, ducking out from under him to sit up and take a closer look at the money. "How in the world did you get this?"

"They let me in! They let me in the Family – said I had good management potential, that I'd been so good at all the tasks they'd given me that I proved my worth," he said, his broad smile ever increasing. "That means more money – a lot more, El. The kind of money you should have. And I'll be around a lot more, too. No more running around all night and whenever somebody comes by needing something – now I'm the one calling the shots. They said I can't tell you about it – the work can be kind of dangerous, so you'd just worry all the time – but they'll pay real well. We'll have everything we need."

I was so young, and so stupid. If I had just said something then, begged him to walk away, maybe things could have been different. I knew it didn't feel right; it was too easy, too fast. But all I saw was money, nice things, food on the table… and Luke, happier and prouder than I'd seen him in years. So instead, I just hugged him tightly, laughing as he stood up and spun me around as Frankie barked.

"I'm gonna take care of us, El. You'll see," he said, setting me down on the bed carefully before crawling back on top of me. "It's gonna be a better life."

I didn't need a better life. I just needed him.

I wish I had known then that I couldn't have both.

.

.

_Looking at you makes it harder,  
But I know that you'll find another  
That doesn't always make you want to cry._

_._

_._

Looking back on it now, I think it was the rain that woke me that night. It was just so simple, and normal, but the wind and the rattle of the window just felt off. I opened my eyes, and that's when I noticed that the spot beside me on the bed was empty, and Luke was sitting in the corner, hunched over.

I would have said something, ordinarily, but I knew something wasn't right. One of the perks of spending your entire life with someone, I guess. After a few moments, it hit me; my strong, brave Luke was crying silently. Sobbing, really; even in the dark I could see his whole body shudder.

"Luke? Luke, what is it? What happened?" I asked, out of bed and over to him immediately. I guess privacy would have been kinder, but I couldn't help it – I had never seen him cry before, and it shocked me.

He stopped almost immediately, shaking his head. "El, go back to sleep."

I ignored him, getting to my knees and hugging him tightly. The 'Family' had been working him hard – money had become something we had in abundance, but the price seemed to be his absence from early morning to just before dinner, with no explanation as to what he did all day. I assumed the stress must have gotten to him. "I'm sorry. Whatever it is, I'm so sorry."

"It's not you. It's… her," he managed reluctantly.

I could count on a hand the number of times I hadn't been able to tell almost exactly what Luke was thinking… at this moment, I couldn't even attempt to guess. "Who?"

"My mother. When I look at you, I see her that day, and sometimes I just… can't." He had regained some of his composure, but he was still a far cry from the man I knew so well.

I rested my hands on his shoulders. "I remember. When they were at the window, I remember them looking at us and-"

"No." I looked at him, surprised, and he gave an almost detached shrug. "No. She jumped, El. When I turned you away, my mother jumped and I watched it and I… see that moment, every time I look at you. I've tried so hard but I can't make it stop."

"Luke!" I scrambled back, letting him go and covering my mouth with my hands, horrified. "How could you see that and still love me? How could you even stand to look at me?"

He was so quiet when he replied that it was almost a whisper, but it echoed against the walls in the silence that followed as if he'd shouted it at the top of his lungs. "Sometimes, I don't know."

.

.

_It started with the perfect kiss,  
Then we could feel the poison set in.  
"Perfect" couldn't keep this love alive._

_._

_._

"Please calm down." I knew my words would fall on deaf ears, but I had to try again. Luke's pacing was scaring Frankie, and me even more so. It had been like that for months now; he would come home agitated, irritable and tense. He usually calmed down, but he'd snapped more than a few times, and coming from my ever-laidback lover, that was always a shock.

"Don't tell me what to do. I know what to do. I always know what to do," he replied, close to raving at me as he kept pacing, tightly gripping the bread he'd promised to bring home for dinner that night.

"It's okay. Why don't you go sit down?" I tried to be gentle as I took his arm, tugging the bread out of his hand as I led him towards a chair. As soon as I looked at the bread, however, I stopped and screamed, dropping it on the ground. Its middle was covered in blood – which, upon looking, obviously came from Luke's deeply stained hands.

"Quiet," he snapped at me, but for once the shock at his tone took a backseat to the horror in front of me. "It's nothing."

"What have you done?" Frankie began to whine in the background as my tone grew shriller, until he finally began to bark. "Luke, where have you been? What have you done? Mother Mary, what… what have you done?"

I knew. When our apartments got bigger, and he began to bring home nicer things, I began to understand what kind of work Frankie – the human one – and his 'family' might be involving Luke with. I had been around the streets long enough, and when Luke came home more than a few times with bruises to spare, and large, strange men would come knocking on our door in the middle of the night, I knew.

I just never wanted to admit it.

"Stop," he warned again. "Just stop, I can't take the noise."

"There's so much blood… what did you do?" I was angry, but it passed after a moment, followed by crying that bordered dangerously on hysterical. "How… could you?"

"You don't know what you're talking about, so just stop. Ellie, be quiet," he said, almost calmly. However, as my crying got heavier and Frankie's barks got louder, it proved to be too much and finally he pulled out a gun, shouting, "Shut that worthless dog the hell up or I swear on the cross I'll put a bullet in his head!"

It was like time stopped. As agitated as he'd been lately, I'd rarely heard Luke raise his voice, and never at me. And he loved Frankie, maybe even more than I did – I realized then that this was not the man I knew. He was gone – maybe for a long time.

I rushed to drag Frankie into the bedroom and came back out, and we had dinner as if nothing had happened. When I couldn't stand the silence anymore, I went to bed, and for the first time cringed when Luke joined me.

"I didn't do it. I was just there and had to help, clean it up. I'm sorry, it was a really bad day. I'm sorry," he said, putting his hands around my waist.

I cried again, and it was a full few minutes before I could respond. "How long have you carried a gun? Why do you do this, Luke? I don't want this – it's not worth the money. It's not."

"It is. I love you, and I have to take care of you – and I'm good at this. It's not so bad. I know I've been hard to live with, lately, but it'll pass. I promise. Besides, look at this place; you've got nice clothes, we've got lots of room and we can buy whatever we want." He rolled me over to look at him and gave me a smile. "It's everything we ever wanted."

"Is it? Or is it what you have to have?" I asked, resting my head against the pillow and tracing designs into his chest with my finger. He felt the same… but I couldn't deny that he wasn't, anymore.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, sitting up slightly.

"I don't think you love me – I think you _have_ to love me," I said, refusing to move or meet his gaze. "I think you feel like you have to love me, to take care of me until it kills you. I don't think you want to. Maybe you did once, but now… now I don't think you want any of this."

"You're just upset, El – and, you should be, I was an idiot back there. I'm really sorry. But you shouldn't say that; of course I love you. I love you more than anything else in this world. Let me show you…" As he kissed me, moving to lay back down, I knew he believed every word he said. And maybe he was right.

But so was I.

I lay awake that night long after he fell asleep, staring at the ceiling and wondering if I could really do what I knew had to be done. I loved him, and he loved me, but he hated me, too. At least, he hated seeing me, a constant reminder of everything he'd lost so horribly. He'd never admit that to himself or me, but I knew he'd work this evil job with those evil people until he punished himself to death for feeling that way. He wanted to love me but he'd never be able to, not entirely, and he could never choose to walk away from me no matter how desperately he needed to.

So the next morning, I made the choice for him.

.

.

_You know that I love you so,  
I love you enough to let you go._

_._

_._

The next morning I ran away and never looked back. It didn't take long to find the boarding house, and after so long out of work and away from lots of people, being a newsie and talking to people all day is a dream. Then I met Skittery, and even though it isn't as comfortable a life as I'd had before, it's mine.

Still, I wonder about Luke. I never told anyone in Manhattan about him, even Skittery, but nevertheless, he's constantly on my mind. The price of being inseparable for so long, I guess; every day I wake up and wonder why he's not beside me, until the reality sets back in. I wonder if he's safe, if he's happy. It's a daily fight not to go back, or just check on him; I know I might not recognize the man that he's become, but I still love him, regardless. Loving him was never the problem.

I don't know that I believe the old saying, it's better to have loved and lost. I feel empty, now, like a piece of me is gone that no one else will ever be able to fill. I'll never be whole again, or feel again, like I felt with him. With Luke, the world was so vivid… and now it's just gray, all the time.

So I fake it. I say the words, I follow the movements, and I pretend that I feel for Skittery, and the girls, and everyone. I know it's not fair, especially to Skittery who I know really loves me, so I try as hard as I can. It's a performance, and it's exhausting, but at least it's believable enough to get me through the day.

.

.

_You can't make it feel right,_  
_When you know that it's wrong._  
_I'm already gone._  
_There's no moving on,_  
_So I'm already gone._

_._

_._

I look up from the ring and they're all looking at me. They've caught me not paying attention again. Damn.

"Sorry, what was that?" I asked, as Echo rolls her eyes at me and starts on her story again. I always laugh when she does that – I seem to exasperate her the most out of all the girls, and yet she's always so fiercely protective of me. I idolize her a little, I guess – she's just so strong. If I were more like her, I would have left Luke a long time ago, when he first told me how painful it was to have me around. Maybe I wouldn't have needed to – maybe if he hadn't felt like he had to be so strong, he could have admitted he was a little weak and taken the time he needed to heal before it consumed him.

Cheetah and Lockie laugh as Echo gets to the punch line, and I can't help but smile. They're both so beautiful and they laugh so freely, like they don't have a care in the world. I imagine they look a lot like angels would; no problems, no pain, just free to be stunning and happy and worry-free.

Shooter and Pyro give half smiles, as usual, for entirely different reasons. Pyro does it because she knows that her well-practiced half smile is so ridiculously sultry that it causes half the men in the nearby area to drop what they're doing and pay absolute attention. I swear, she's the most confident girl in the world; then again, that probably goes hand in hand with knowing that you're the prettiest girl in the world, which I have no doubt she does and she is. Shooter, on the other hand, is just shy; I always wonder how she's made it on the streets this long, as sweet and innocent to the underbelly of this city as she is. I'm glad, really.

The only one who doesn't laugh is Lillian, but I'm the only one who notices. She's at the edge of the booth whispering with Runner, who's giving a wide smile as he listens to what she's telling him, obviously completely absorbed. I can't help but smile – really smile – at that, because I can see his secret as plain as day. He's completely enamored with her, looking at her the same way Luke used to look at me; like no matter what she says, or what she does, it's the most special thing on earth and he's lucky to even get to be near her. He leans in when she speaks and lingers when he finds a reason to touch her, like nothing else matters but that moment and he wants to hold on to it as long as possible… they're rare, feelings like that in a city like this. I can tell she doesn't it realize any of it yet, but she will.

I hope they can do better than Luke and I could.

.

.

_Remember all the things we wanted?_  
_Now all our memories, they're haunted._  
_We were always meant to say goodbye._

_._

_.  
_

I never pictured it this way. Luke was home, to me. We were supposed to get married, and have children, and it was all planned so perfectly. Without him, I just feel lost. I wonder, sometimes, if it was fair to say yes to Skittery, knowing that I was so empty. I care for him, I really do, but the love I felt with Luke is gone. The love I felt for anything is gone. He deserves better, someone who can love him completely.

Instead, I'll always think of Luke, and I'm sure I'll always cry when I wake up in the night and he's not there beside me. I tell myself the grief will pass, but I know better.

Letting him go was the right thing to do. I know that. For him, for me, for the city. I knew doing the right thing would cost me, too, and I accepted that. I thought, it's love, it's good. A good thing, the right choice; how much could it really cost me?

It cost me everything. _Love_ cost me everything, and I'll have to live with that until the day I die.

I'll never make that mistake again.


	5. Chapter 4: Pyro

.

.

_._

_I'm not feeling so bold._

_Can't you see I don't wanna grow old?_

_And my photograph's an epitaph of parody._

_I don't wanna be me._

.

.

.

It's bad today.

I knew it when I woke up this morning. When I brushed my teeth, washed my face, greeted my friends. I could feel it as I walked to work, as I carried out my day. Now, tonight, I know I have to face it. And I know it's going to be bad.

It's my daily meeting with the mirror.

"You listening? Hello? What's with you tonight, Pyro?"

I try to shake the feelings away as I look up at my companion, whose blue eyes are particularly icy as they stare at me with unbridled annoyance. Spot Conlon doesn't like to be ignored. One of the many things we have in common.

"Sorry. I'm tired," I try, taking a long drink from my glass.

He's not satisfied, probably because he knows I'm lying to him. We both know each other well enough to know when the other is lying; unfortunately, the question really isn't ever _if_ someone's lying. It's _why_.

And that, for this lie, is something I'll never tell him.

"I'll bet. I heard you been having a pretty busy week," he says, in a tone that says it all and a smug smirk to match. He's implying that I've been cheating on him.

He's right.

Still, my temper is off like a shot. "You trying to say something to me, Conlon? Go ahead, say it – we both know subtlety ain't your strong suit."

I've raised my voice, and now a few of the other patrons in the restaurant are looking. Spot doesn't care – his temper's sparked as hot as mine, now. "Oh yeah - kind of like how class ain't yours, right? All I was gonna say was that you keep the sluttin' around to your own city – you run around with that guy in Brooklyn again, and he's finished. I'm only gonna tell you once."

"Is that a threat?" I demand.

"Probably not – I bet you can't even remember the guy's name, so I'm sure you don't care what happens to him. It is a promise, though. You come to my home, mess around with guys on my turf – it makes me look bad, makes me vulnerable. I can't have it." He's calmer, and I know he's right – reputation is everything here.

Too bad he's also right that I don't care. Picking up my glass once more, I move to get out of the booth and then throw the rest of my drink in his face. "Take your accusations and shove 'em, Conlon. Nice way to treat your girl."

He's got my wrist in a vice grip before I can even retract it, and squeezes it so tightly that I almost drop the glass. "Don't kid yourself – a whore ain't nobody's girl for more than a couple hours."

I slap him with my free hand, and manage to slap him again before he catches that wrist, too. "Let me go!"

"Shut your mouth," he snaps back, giving a look to the nosy patrons nearby before indeed letting me go and throwing some money on the table.

I turn and flounce out and he's right behind, barely hitting the sidewalk before he's got me pressed against a wall, gripping my arms so tightly that I know there will be bruises later. "You _ever_ do that again," he says quietly, in a voice he only uses when I've pushed him too far, "And so help me…"

I don't let him finish – I wrestle my arm away and slap him again. "You mean do that? Is that what you don't want me doin' again? Or are you talking about all the supposed cheating I was doing while I was shacked up, taking care of Echo all week? That's right, she's been sick and didn't want anybody else to know, so I've been here all night every night, helping out. Your spies are about as useful as you are."

"Echo?" he says uncertainly.

I can see the light coming on in his eyes, and I manage not to look smug. It's a good lie, after all; lately nobody's been able to account for Echo late at night, so nobody could prove it wasn't true besides her. Instead, I slap him again – a mistake, really, given how much my hand is starting to sting. Still, it takes him by surprise and lets me jerk away, starting down the street. "Yeah, Echo. But I guess I should've been out screwin' around, since apparently I'm such a big whore. I've got a lot of catching up to do – I'll have to be out half the night to make up for it, whoring it up with every guy I see and –"

He's got me back against the brick before I can finish. This time there's no threats, though – this time he's kissing me, pressing me against the wall with more force than he had when he'd pinned me there in the first place. I kiss him back, and it's an angry kiss, each of us struggling to make the other submit. Finally he lets me win, growing gentler until he finally lets go entirely and takes a deep breath.

"Sorry," he says.

I just nod. Ordinarily I'd keep going, really guilt him, but I've got other things on my mind tonight so I let it go. It's the best I'll get out of him, anyway – pushing him farther just led to more fights, and tonight I didn't need the thrill.

Still, after an awkward silence, I can't totally resist. "You're an idiot," I tell him, and pull him towards the nearest alley.

He looks put off until he sees where I'm headed, and then he flashes me that famous Conlon smirk that makes me so crazy for him. "Maybe. But I'm smart enough to know that the most beautiful girl in the city can have whoever she wants."

And there it is – the real reason he stays with me, when I push him so hard. He knows I probably cheat on him, and we're always fighting, but he always comes back… He says it's because he loves me, but I know better. The only thing he loves about me is how I look.

I start undoing the buttons on his shirt before we even made it into the alley, carelessly ripping a few off in my haste. Fair was fair – he was always doing the same to me, and I doubted tonight would be different. "Good thing I want you."

.

.

.

_I'm not feeling so sure_

_It would help if you offered a cure_

_If I wait, it's too late for the remedy_

_I don't wanna be me_

.

.

Spot drops me off at the lodging house a couple hours later, kissing me and saying something sweet, but I don't hear it. All I hear are my footsteps echoing as I make my way up the stairs, and the door slamming behind me as I head into the last place I want to be, and the only place I can't seem to stay away from. The washroom.

I stand in front of the mirror for a full minute before I realize I'm not alone. When I turn away I find Lockie and Lillian staring at me, Lillian looking concerned while Lockie just bursts out laughing. "You're really that hypnotized by your own reflection, huh?" she says.

I can see Lillian knows something's wrong, so I jump on Lockie's words, eager to get them both distracted. "Just looking over my hair, is all. Spot made a mess of it."

"That's a mess? I forgot, you wake up every morning looking better than you went to sleep, so for you this is a mess," Lockie responds, laughing again. "And what exactly were you two doing that 'made a mess' of it, huh? Wrestling?"

"You don't recognize it? It's the same mess you were in Sunday evening when Race dropped you off. We must have been doing the same thing as you two – you know, wrestling," I counter, smiling as Lockie turns crimson, nodding and heading out of the room.

She may be one of the brashest girls I know, but like all of us, she keeps her romantic life to herself. It's not as much virtue as it is necessity, really; the more people that see you or talk about you in terms of sex, the more sex with you becomes a possibility in the minds of the men in the city. It's harsh, but it's true; if you do anything to offer it to the city, someone is going to take it.

Lillian looks bewildered by the exchange, and I'm not surprised. Of our circle of friends, she and Shooter are the only ones I figure are virgins, and both of them still hold a sort of wide-eyed innocence to them.

I've never held that. I've always known exactly how the world saw me.

"Are you excited for your birthday next week?" she says with a smile, breaking up the silence.

I smile back, though I don't feel it. I like Lillian; I don't understand her and all her sweet, naïve ways, but I like her all the same and hate to be the reason she stops smiling. "Excited to get old? No thanks. I think I'm already getting wrinkles," I reply, turning back to the mirror and examining the corners of my eyes.

Thinking I'm kidding, she laughs, shaking her head. "Right, like not looking perfect will ever be something you have to worry about. You'll be a hundred and still look better than everyone else. Is Spot coming to the party?"

"Yeah, that's the plan," I nod, still examining my face for wrinkles and blemishes. "He and some of the others from Brooklyn will be coming – should be a wild party."

"Good, it sounds fun," she says, smiling brighter now. Before I can ask her why she's interested, though, she waves and heads for the door. "Goodnight, Pyro. See you in the morning."

Once I'm alone, I take a step back and look over myself in the mirror again until I can't stand it anymore and have to look away. Heading for the bathroom stall, I barely make it over the bowl before my meals for the day are coming up, nothing but wasted money as I flush them down the drain. Once I have nothing left, I lean back against the stall door and think with morbid amusement that Lillian is completely wrong.

All I see are imperfections.

_._

_._

_._

_You won't save me_

_'Cause I'm not the fortunate one_

_So, don't blame me_

_If I decide to just run_

_._

_._

_._

I don't know when it started. I've always been beautiful; never an awkward phase, never a time when strangers didn't stop on the street to compliment me. It's always been the thing that's kept me alive, as far as I was concerned. People were kinder to me, more generous with me, than they were with others. And once I was old enough to understand what boys wanted… well, then I had a whole gender to get what I wanted for me.

Somewhere down the line, though, I noticed the flaws.

A blemish here, a little bloating there. The first day I remember doing it was when I noticed my skirt didn't fit right; at eleven years old, my older brother assured me that it was just a growth spurt, but I knew better. I was getting fat, and soon I would be fat and ugly and my beauty would be gone.

And I just couldn't have that. So I threw up every day until that skirt could barely stay up on my hips.

Beauty is everything to me, you understand. It was to my father, too – a factory foreman with five children and a wife dead from a childbirth gone wrong, he was a drunk, to no one's real surprise. To my siblings he was a hard hand and an even harsher set of words, but not to me; I was his beautiful princess, his ticket to a better life.

He taught me that the only way to survive in this world was to use what God gave you – and that God had given me enough beauty to land me a husband that could care for me and my family forever. He'd parade me around in front of the young, wealthy boys from uptown and smile with such pride when they'd notice me. I'd do anything to make him smile like that at me.

I left when I was old enough so that I wouldn't be a burden, a mouth to feed anymore, but I still go back and visit him, from time to time. He still works, but not much, and the alcohol's taken its toll on his body. My siblings all pitch in to help take care of him, but the one time I offered he threw a fit until I swore never to offer again. He likes me being a newsgirl – puts me front and center for all the rich men in the city. It would probably put him in a grave to find out that I'm seeing Spot.

I guess I feel guilty, or would if I didn't feel so empty. My siblings endured hard lives while my father adored me, and I never once tried to make him include them, fearing that sharing his love with them even for a moment might risk losing it. They resent me, and I suppose that deep down I hate myself for it, punish myself by starving and berating myself for a beauty that always seems to be more and more flawed. I don't know; I don't know much of anything for sure. Nobody's ever claimed that I was smart, or sensitive, or insightful.

The only thing I've ever known was beauty.

_._

_._

_._

_I'm not feeling so well_

_Maybe we could just sit for a spell?_

_And make amends, it depends on my injury_

_I don't want to be me_

_._

_._

_._

Like my father with his alcohol, my addiction to perfection is taking its toll. I lost a tooth the other day – one from the back, thank Heaven, but one I shouldn't have lost at my age. My bones ache when I wake up and when I lay down to go to sleep, and they feel brittle, as though they might snap any minute. The throwing up, the eating so little – I know it'll kill me, probably sooner than later.

But at least I'll die pretty.

It's the night of my party, and I'm having to pull up my socks to hide how bony my legs and knees look today. I think they're perfect, if not just a bit too thick, but I know my friends would comment on it if they saw.

The music is loud and the drinks are flowing and everyone seems happy. I lean back in my chair as I wait for Spot to bring me the drink he disappeared to find a few minutes ago, winking to a few nearby men who grin in response. I don't feel happy at parties – I don't feel much of anything, anymore, besides disgust when I've eaten too much for lunch or when I find a new wrinkle.

That's why I stay with Spot, really. He's the only thing that makes me feel anymore; fury, usually, but it's better than the cold and empty nothing that I carry around the rest of the time.

I don't believe I love him, and I don't have any idea if he loves me; love's not really something I'm familiar with, so I can't really tell. My father favored me, but I don't think he was capable of love, and while my siblings did their best, the resentment my father fostered never allowed us to get too close. Even my friends keep me at arm's reach, and even farther from their boyfriends when Spot and I are fighting. I know they see me as cold, often distant and usually selfish. A hollow, life-sized doll. And who could blame them?

It's what I am. And empty things that can't love back don't deserve to receive any.

Still, I feel affection for all of them. Echo's so fearless and strong, and Peg is so kind and warm. Sometimes I like to pretend that I'm them, waking up in the morning and looking in the mirror and seeing their pretty faces. They always smile when they do it, and I like to imagine what that's like – what it's like to be so perfect on the outside and so happy on the inside that the face in the reflection is a friend, not a sworn enemy.

Cheetah and Lockie are so free and so feisty that neither of them even need their good looks; unlike me, I think people would look at them and want to be near them anyway. Shooter's the one I envy the most, with her angelic face and quiet loveliness; her beauty and all the attention that comes with was just thrust upon her effortlessly, she never had to work at it. She and Lillian both seem so innocent, like they were doomed to a life of attention and charm simply because of how beautiful and wonderful they are. I always wonder what that must be like.

I like to be with them, and pretend that I feel included when we all laugh at a joke only we know, or share secret smiles when someone's having a rough day. I like to wish that I really matter to them as much as they matter to me. I like to sit with them and imagine that I really fit, that I'd still fit if I didn't have my looks. That I offer something more than that.

Some days I imagine hard enough that I almost believe it.

_._

_._

_._

_You won't save me_

_'Cause I'm not the fortunate one_

_So, don't blame me_

_If I decide to go hide or instead to just run_

_._

_._

_._

Spot's taking too long. I go to find him, and see him at the bar with a young barmaid wrapping herself around him. She looks up and sees me, and I can tell right away that she knows who I am. We stare at each other for a few moments while she sizes me up, and when her eyes darken a little I know she's realized what we both know; I'm prettier than her, and once I come over there, Spot will forget all about her.

What she doesn't see, though, is what I do; that in a year or two, she could be prettier and I could be old, and this might turn out differently.

I turn and head for the bathroom, more determined than ever to make this dress feel looser, to fit better. I'll give her a moment to wonder, and then when I was finish I'll come back, raging at her and Spot and causing a great scene that my friends will have to come break up. Spot and I will be over for a week or two, but then it'll all be forgotten.

Everything will happen like I expect, like normal. Spot can't stay away from me, and my friends forgive me quickly, no matter what scene I cause. And life, it'll stay this way.

As long as I stay beautiful.


End file.
